Time to Upgrade

(Written for Writer's Cramp contest)

Anne burst though the door just in time to hear the last beep of the answering machine as it recorded a message, then its inevitable whir and creak.

Anne sighed, knowing she needed to get rid of it. No one used the old-fashioned things anymore. She’d had it forever – a BA in psychology, a Masters degree, and two years of Ph.D. – but, over the last few months, it had started to work less and less. It was now down to recording half of every message and, as luck would have it, usually the unimportant half. She just hated thinking about technology and the idea of upgrading depressed her.

Dropping her book-laden bag on the floor – her mind momentarily turning to the research she had accumulated at her marathon stint at the library – Anne hit the Play button on the machine and bent down to empty out her books.

“Umm...hi, Anne. It’s me.” Anne frowned. It was her best friend Jackson, but he sounded nervous, and he never sounded nervous. That’s what she liked most about him; whereas she was always worried, Jackson was the emotional equivalent of the statue that adorned the Breaker Graduate School, minus its evil glare, of course. “Glad you’re out. I know it’s ridiculous to... wouldn’t normally consider this as the way to...but I just couldn’t seem to get up the nerve to ask face to fa...” Anne beat her hand softly on the table in frustration, silently begging the machine to keep recording. “I know a guy shouldn’t...but I just couldn’t come up with a better...so here it is...we’ve known each other a long time and...best friend...was wondering if...you...” Restraining herself from throwing the machine against a wall, Anne clutched the table. “So there it is...please forgive me...not a very good way to make a proposal.” She stood completely still as the room started spinning. “Please think about it, and I’ll come by tonight around...Bye.”

Beep.

The machine stopped, the apartment was quiet, and Anne couldn’t move from the table.

Could Jackson possibly have...? Had he asked...? Did he...want...them...a couple?

Spoken aloud, Anne’s thoughts would have given a fairly good imitation of the truant answering machine.

No, it couldn’t be. But he had said “proposal”...hadn’t he? What else could it mean?

Anne tried to reign in her wildly spinning imagination.

Slow down. Jackson wouldn’t seriously propose such a thing like that by proxy...would he? After all, we’ve never even come close to dating.

That last thought led Anne off on a tangent for a moment. No, they weren’t dating, but she had spent many a night alone in her room wishing they were.

She remembered the first time they had met. Both sophomores in college at the time, Anne had been working at the library for the summer, not a glamorous job, but a solid one. Her stellar work record had earned her a prime position at the circulation desk – light duties in her estimation, though it required her to be on her toes.

One of her responsibilities included helping those who ran afoul of the malevolent check-out computer, supposedly state-of-the-art in library maintenance, but that was simply code for the multiple ways it could break down. On this particular day, it had decided to “eat” Jackson’s library card. When Anne had come to his rescue, she had felt awkward talking to such an attractive guy, but then they had laughed over the machine’s antics and had soon discovered that they were both reading the same book.

Slowly, Anne had forgotten her first reaction, had buried it under their steady friendship – until it had popped up again about a year ago, leaving her longing for a romantic relationship with her unsuspecting friend.

But now it appeared he wasn’t so “unsuspecting” after all.

Thinking over the message, Anne could only conclude that Jackson had been having the same feelings that she had, had not known how to approach her, and had chosen this method of changing their friendship. She felt a ripple of excitement. Though a student of psychology, Anne never even considered that the message held any other possibility.

The heart can be so good at rationalizing sometimes.

Anne felt a momentary twitch of annoyance. What girl wants the man of her dreams to come to his senses over a half-broken answering machine? Still, she was so elated that her fantasy was coming true that she instantly forgave him. After all, he was an accountant – an unusual one in almost every way, true, but still an unimaginative number-cruncher by trade.

Not knowing when Jackson was arriving, Anne was dressed and ready by five. The bell rang at six. Holding her breath, she opened the door.

Jackson leaned in, took her hands, and said earnestly, “Have you thought about it?” 

A blush like a shadow ran over her cheeks. “The answer is yes,” she whispered.

Jackson grinned and gave her a light, grateful yet distinctly friendly kiss. “Thanks, Anne. I hoped you would help me with that charity event I have to plan, even though you are so busy with your research. You’re the best at organizing these things.” Then her best friend launched into a detailed discussion about invitations.

Anne closed the door and buried the tears she would shed when she was alone.

Several hours later, after Jackson left and she was through crying, Anne, ever the optimistic philosopher, began to hope again and to wish wistfully that Jackson would leave a different message someday.

Feeling the need for revenge, however, she vowed to trash the offending answering machine first thing in the morning.